On every channel I have seen them grieve
They are seethingly at odds with U.C. Berkeley
Apparently someone sought to uproot the trees
They are pissed/they are peeved/
They squawk about preserving the trees
They squat/they refuse to leave/
They literally live in the trees
Life or limb they vow to protect the trees
They seek understanding/empathy/
Meanwhile the State of California
Celebrates my wrongful conviction and intends to kill me!
From Death Row I languish in disbelief,
Wishing I was just as cherished and esteemed
As one of those damn oak trees!

On every channel I have seen them grieve
A blind man could see their hypocrisy;
For had “Cecil the Lion” been “Cecil the Negro”
His demise would not have been lionized!
In fact, he’d be just one more nappy headed
“Super predator,” that was “brought to heel…”

For all of my days, I have seen them,
Endeavoring to be green and save nonhuman things:
The Whales
The Beaches
The Dolphins
The Wetlands and Marshes
The Owls
The Ozone
Even lab Rats and Rodents,
The Condors
The Eagles
And yes, the precious trees.

It is an unconscionable sin
Putting mice before men,
But many have I seen
Treating pets better than human beings;
And though they’re quick to pamper “fido”
They historically ignore the plight of the “negro!”

Am I worthy of the same affinity
That Monkeys, Mammals, and Reptiles receive?
Am I as precious
As the creatures that you grieve?
Hell, I love the environment, and everything in it,
But we cannot allow racism, corruption, injustice,
Or wrongful convictions to exist!

(c) Tim Young
This poem is included in the book, OVERTHROWING CAPITALISM, Volume 3: Reclaiming Community: An Anthology of Transformational Poets.

African American
African amiss
I am of the diaspora
The unknown abyss
My nightmare begins
In the belly of a slave ship.
If I could lay claim
Or reclaim anything
It would be my freedom
My history
My roots
My family tree
The fruits of Black labor
With interest and royalties.

My community is neglected
The conditions are antebellum blue
No reparations for slavery
No 40 acres
No mule,
Just jim crow
Black codes
Mass incarceration
And Death Row…
Omit not from history
The plight of my peers
Genocide
Reservations
And a trail of tears…

From conception to birth
It is scientifically certain
That all who survive shall
Eventually die
We live/we strive/we die/
But my date with death
Has been molested at best
For it is not God’s will
But rather the will of hate
Hand-picked “people of the state”
Have biasly decided my fate…
Yes, it is true,
They wish to beat me
Out of my last breath,
They want to punish me
For the color of my skin.
But as sure as I am Black
My fate remains in God’s hands.